Memory
by TheGoldenAge
Summary: When Hermione Granger and her boss, Draco Malfoy, are transferred to the Closed Ward of St. Mungo's to care for a Harry Potter who can't remember anything about his own life, nothing goes the way that anyone would have expected.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

_Healer Malfoy._

The plaque on the door had become so familiar to Hermione that she barely paused to read it as she knocked on the door, then entered without waiting for an answer. Draco, still as white-blonde and sharp-featured as ever, glanced up from his work as Hermione blew into his office.

"Come in," he quipped, setting his quill aside. "What can I do for you, Granger?"

Although Malfoy's use of her surname harkened back to harsher days, Hermione and Draco had managed, after five years of working together, to come to a sort of amicable, argumentative working relationship. St. Mungo's had paired them together, with Hermione working under Draco as an Assistant Healer, and although it had seemed a bad idea at the outset, Hermione and Draco had developed a surprisingly effective partnership.

"Just wondering why I've been so abruptly transferred," Hermione said, placing her hands on her hips. "I don't think I've done anything to offend you this week, so what on earth is the deal?"

Draco's face froze. He remained silent for a moment, and Hermione suddenly felt very nervous. One of her favorite things about working with Draco in the Emergency Ward was that he was always very cool about things. He never panicked if a wizard came in with serious spell damage, and he always kept his mind focused on the problem at hand, doing his best to solve it before moving onto the next thing. So anything that had Draco uneasy was sure to make Hermione's life hell in some way.

"Hermione," Draco said slowly, causing her more trepidation by switching to the use of her first name, "You're not going to like what I'm about to say."

Hermione sank into the chair in front of Draco's desk, trying to keep her cool. "I should think not," she managed, her voice forcedly light. Draco looked at her with something like pity fleeting through his steely eyes. "I mean, when I first came here, it was with the understanding that I'd never work with Closed Ward patients."

"I'm sure that, since you remember that, you understand that this is a case of a serious nature," Draco said. "I too am working this case, as the head Healer, and we've both been transferred indefinitely to the Closed Ward, specifically to this one case."

Hermione frowned. "What on earth - or rather, who on earth, I suppose - could possibly be important enough to warrant both of us being on staff when it's really the Emergency Ward that could use more…" Her voice trailed off as the pitying look returned again to Draco's eyes. Although she normally would have frowned and snarked at him about it, instead it seemed to pin her to her seat and drain her of energy.

"I was planning on calling you into my office this morning anyway, and if you hadn't come in so early, you would have arrived to a memo in your locker," Draco said, and for a moment he almost sounded sad. "I know you're wondering about this, and it's all very confusing for both of us. Trust me," he added, "in a way I'm as at sea as you are. I don't have much experience on the Closed Ward, and to be quite honest, when I looked in this morning to familiarize myself, it gave me the creeps. But this is our situation, Granger." The use of Hermione's last name, so familiar, was strangely comforting. "And we've got to make the best of it."

Hermione thought the whole thing over for a moment. It all seemed very abrupt; she had never worked anywhere but the Emergency Ward since she'd been promoted to Assistant Healer three years ago, and she hadn't even been on the Closed Ward since her accidental visit to Gilderoy Lockhart almost ten years ago. But if she were honest with herself, Draco had been such a good boss (and, very nearly, partner) over the years that she trusted him at least enough to believe that he wouldn't let anything unwanted happen to her without a good reason for it. Their days of school antagonism were over, and over the years they had formed what Hermione would, and even Draco might, call a great team. She sighed, and, forcing herself to fall back on the strong resolve she'd had since childhood, accepted her new station.

"Well," she said, and she could tell that Draco had at least followed the main machinations of her decision-making process, "at least tell me who the poor blighter is we'll be looking after. It might as well be the Minister himself for all the fuss that's been kicked up over it."

Draco's eyes clouded over slightly. There it was again, the pitying, half-sad look. Like she just wasn't quite grasping something he'd been making very obvious. Hermione frowned, and she felt her heartbeat slow and then quicken erratically. Draco reached for a folder on his desk and slid it across the surface so it rested on the side closest to Hermione. "All the information you'll need is in there," he said. "The incident description is at the top, patient information at the bottom."

Reaching for the folder and flipping it open, Hermione skimmed the incident report. Random phrases jumped out at her: Self-inflicted… Suspected recent tragedy/trauma… Memory loss…

"Poor guy," Hermione remarked with real sympathy. "A Memory Charm isn't typically the best way to fix a broken heart. Was it a wife or something like that?"

"Girlfriend left," Draco corrected briefly. "They'd been together for a long time; a bit on and off at first but toward the end they were inseparable. It's almost indeterminable if they had just gotten engaged or not."

"What a time for a memory malfunction," Hermione said, eyes returning to the page and scanning it to find the place she'd left off. "But it's nice that they moved us both there rather-"

Her voice cut off in her throat as if someone had reached inside her mouth and ripped her words out. The room seemed to be spinning, although she wasn't moving, and she felt the blood drain from her face. Dimly, she heard Draco's concerned voice, but he seemed to suddenly be far away from her, which was impossible, as the office seemed to have shrunk down around her. She couldn't focus her eyes, so instead just stared blankly through the paper she still grasped loosely in her suddenly-disconnected fingers. She'd spotted the name at the bottom of the paper.

_Harry Potter._

* * *

AN: Rather ambitiously, I've decided to start a new project that I've had in mind for a while now. I'd like to dedicate this story, such as it may turn out to be, to my boyfriend, who got me back into fanfiction and into the genre I've always liked. You can decide whether you should thank him or not as the story progresses. ;)-TheGoldenAge


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Harry … took his own memory?"

When Hermione finally found the strength to speak at all, it was with a shaking voice and through barely parted lips. She looked anywhere but at Draco, gaze settling on the floor; she didn't want him to see her so overcome with emotion, and she was afraid that if she did look at him, if she saw that pity in his eyes again, she might cry.

"That's how it seems," Draco said quietly. "They performed the routine spell checks on his wand, and the last spell performed was an Obliviate. While we can't tell who the spell was performed on, all the evidence points to it being Potter."

Draco's use of Harry's last name was a welcome, firm point of reality for Hermione to latch onto in the storm of uncertainty she'd been thrown into. The room seemed to stop spinning and she began to think in a more rational manner. Harry had had accidents before; being friends with him had been fraught with danger, and she and Ron had felt the brunt of it more than once. This was just … just a somewhat more serious accident. That's all. And who better to be in charge of his care than his dearest friend?

Well, Hermione thought to herself, maybe Draco wasn't the best choice, but he was a good Healer.

Acting on this thought, Hermione took a bracing lungful of air and asked, "Do you think it's a good idea for you to be in charge of this? Not," she added, "that I think you're too immature to have let things go, but if something triggers in his mind, won't that be rather uncomfortable?"

Draco met her eyes gravely. "Hermione," he began, his voice delicate and slow, "the emergency ward staff wasn't sure if … there would ever be a trigger."

The room began to spin again. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she had breathed. "You mean," she said, "you mean he may never remember anything? Not Hogwarts, nor magic, nor Voldemort, nor … nor me?"

"We're not sure," Draco replied. "It's very up in the air at this point; you know how memory issues are, Hermione. It's a delicate science, one that isn't always sure of itself. Just keep in mind that how we care for him could make all the difference as to whether he remembers anything. We're going to treat him like any other patient."

"How can you expect me to do that?" Hermione flared, whipping her head around to look at Draco again. "We were best friends for years - I mean, we've drifted a little in the past year or two, but we all have. I can't just act like he's another miserable Closed Ward patient! He'll know me, somehow…"

"Hermione, he's not going to," Draco said. "Unless something literally impossible happens, he won't know who you are or where you came from or, for that matter, who he is. We're going to do our best to introduce his memories slowly, and one way we've come up with is by surrounding him with staff who attended Hogwarts with him. You and I, for starters, as the lead Healers on his case, and Terry from the Creature Injuries Ward will be looking in on him. We're looking about the hospital for more people, but we don't really want civilians involved; they tend to be unstable, as you know." Draco looked at her for another moment and sighed. He stood up and moved around his desk until he was standing next to her. Although she didn't look at him, Hermione could sense him standing there, still for a moment, before gingerly resting his hand on her shoulder. "I know this is hard, Gran - Hermione," he said, and she actually appreciated that he had used her first name, at least as an afterthought. "Do you … maybe want to see him alone first? I'm not really supposed to let you just visit him, but I don't mind five minutes getting coffee."

"Could I?" Hermione asked, looking up at Draco gratefully. "I promise, it will help me get my head on straight. I'll be all right again once I see that he really … has forgotten everything."

"I'll be down the street," Draco said, rubbing her shoulder more firmly before disengaging hastily. "When I get back, I hope you'll be ready to really buckle down. Potter needs all the help you can give him, Granger," he added, his voice softening slightly.

"See you in a bit," Hermione said, checking the file again for the room number and leaving the office without another word.

She felt strangely composed as she walked through the halls, waving to her coworkers as cheerfully as she could when she passed them. She knew what had happened; for a while she could disengage, believe that this wasn't happening. She had lied to Draco; if Harry didn't, or couldn't, remember her, things were far more likely to get worse than they were to get better. At one point, Harry had been her whole world. She'd literally given up her life to help him, she'd spent her eighteenth year in a tent in the woods, moving around, hunting for Horcruxes. She couldn't carry those memories alone.

When she reached the Closed Ward, her steps slowed almost automatically. The numbered doors lining the hallway seemed more forbidding than ever, now that she was condemned to working there. She passed door after door, number after number, hopeless case after hopeless case…

Then she was there. Number 15. She turned to face the door, trying to feel some kind of energy behind it for a moment before she shook herself. She was being silly, something Hermione Granger very rarely was. Steeling herself, Hermione reached for the doorknob and, twisting it, pushed open the door.

The room was quiet. Like all the other Closed Ward rooms, it had been magically expanded so it was much bigger on the inside than it looked from the outside. There was a partitioned area off to the side where the bed was, a table with chairs in the center, and a desk in one corner. A section walled off with frosted glass contained a sink, toilet, and utilitarian shower. But Hermione knew all that already. What drew her eyes as she entered the room was the man standing at one of the windows, artificial sunlight pouring through onto his pale face, glinting off his glasses and shining on his tousled black hair. Hermione's heart caught in her chest. Harry looked the same as he always had.

He'd obviously heard her open the door, because he turned to face her as she came in. His eyes lit up and a grin spread across his face. Hermione began to smile back; maybe Draco was wrong. Maybe Harry did remember her!

"Hi," Harry said. Hermione had been wrong; he looked slightly different. Younger. Perhaps forgetting the trauma of Voldemort would have been good for Harry. "I'm really glad to see you!" Hermione's heart was swelling too fast; she opened her mouth to greet her old friend, but he spoke up first. "I was hoping you could tell me my name; they've told me I lost my memory, and I believe them, but they didn't tell me that important detail. Seems a bit odd here," he added with a chuckle and a curious look around the room.

Hermione's heart sank. He didn't remember her. She tried not to let her sadness show, however, afraid of somehow damaging her friend's delicate mind. Smiling somewhat forcedly, she sat down at the table and gestured for him to join her.

"They were right," she said simply. "My name's Hermione, and I'm a nurse here at the hospital."

Harry frowned. "This is a hospital?" he asked. "Why is my room so big? And," he added, "why am I in a hospital if it's just that my memory isn't working?"

"We've got to do some tests, you see," she replied. She felt sad deep in her bones, watching her friend's face light up with familiar, inquisitive curiosity. "We want to make sure you're being taken care of."

"Well, I do remember some things," he said, winking. "I've managed the toilet twice so far."

Hermione laughed, probably harder than she should have. It was just so funny hearing Harry brag about knowing how to use a restroom. "We know you remember all that kind of thing," she assured him. "There's just some things we need to keep an eye on. Head injuries and the like," she said, unsure of whether Draco's plan included telling Harry he was a wizard. "So," she continued, hoping to return to ground she could stand on, "you wanted to know your name."

"If you know it," Harry replied, still smiling slightly. Hermione had never seen him this cheerful uninterruptedly.

"I do," she said, sadness starting to creep up again. "It's Harry."

Harry waited a second, absorbing this, and then turned to her again. "Just Harry?" he asked. "No second or family name?"

"Well of course you've got those too," Hermione replied, letting Harry's newfound lightheartedness rub off on her a little. "Your full name is Harry James Potter."

Harry's brow furrowed slightly. He didn't break eye contact with her. "You know my second name?" he asked. "Do I … know you, or something? I mean, I don't want to be rude and just ask but I haven't got any memory of people."

Hermione paused. Her temporary, borrowed cheer fled from her and she was left with a best friend who didn't know if he knew her. For a brief second, she considered ignoring everything Draco had said. She could tell Harry she knew him, tell him their whole story, take advantage of his blank slate-mind and write her own memories there.

Instead, she smiled gently. Rising from the table, she moved to the door and opened it. As she closed it behind her, she looked back in at Harry. "Not yet," she said.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Hermione hadn't spoken to Ginny in a long time. She'd made new friends at the hospital, she'd heard Ginny and Harry had been busy with their own places of work, and, frankly, Hermione's irregular shift rotation hadn't lent itself to maintaining outside friendships.

However, when she got home from St. Mungo's, she threw her Floo Powder into the fireplace and announced Ginny's address as clearly as she could. Whirling quickly past grate after grate, Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and trusted her enunciation to get her safely to her destination. When she felt the spinning motion slow down, she opened her eyes again and found herself facing the interior of Ginny's old apartment, much as it had always appeared. It seemed a little darker than usual, but Hermione wasn't worried. She hadn't given notice of her visit, after all.

"Hello?" Hermione called, stepping out of the fireplace and removing the ashes from her coat with a flick of her wand. "Ginny, I've stopped by to say hello."

No one responded. Hermione frowned; she'd been careful not to make her visit too late so she wouldn't disturb anything, but not too early to risk Ginny still being at work. She felt a little uneasy about going further into the apartment, but she did take a few steps away from the fireplace into the living room.

It was then that things began to seem strange. The room seemed quiet, the kind of heavy quiet that lingered in a place that hadn't been lived in for a long time. There was a little dust on the glass over the framed photo facing Hermione; the Weasleys stared back at her from under a layer of particles. This could just have been Ginny's bad housekeeping, though; she'd never been a very conscientious cleaner.

Hermione turned to the left, looking toward where the kitchen was, and it was there she saw the first thing that made her truly uncomfortable. On the table, which she could see through the doorway, stood a glass that appeared to be half-full of water. Next to it was something small and white, possibly a napkin or a piece of paper. Hesitating for a moment, Hermione decided that no one, least of all Ginny, would mind if she just made sure of what the square was. Sure, she hadn't spoken to Ginny beyond casual conversation via letter in over a year, but they'd always been close.

Walking slowly, as though she might disturb someone or wake a sleeping animal, Hermione moved from the living room to the kitchen and sat down at the table. There was writing on the white square; from the arrangement, it seemed to be a note after all. Hermione picked it up gingerly, somehow afraid that someone would burst through the kitchen door and yell at her.

Harry,

I can't stay. I'm sorry. Come to my place if you want to talk.

Ginny

Hermione stared down at the note. This was what the report had implied to her earlier, and yet she still felt saddened, as though it had just become real. She remained seated at the table, note clasped in her hand, finally letting the tears that had been building up all day fall silently from her eyes. Her best friend was locked inside his own mind, another friend was missing…

Hermione snapped back to reality. Where was Ginny? It wasn't late enough for her to be in bed, at least not if she was still the Ginny Hermione remembered. The apartment was quiet, looked disused… Initially, Hermione had just assumed she was out, or possibly staying with a friend she felt closer to in the wake of her breakup. However, Ginny had told Harry to "come to her place," and so had either planned on being there indefinitely or had turned incredibly cruel since Hermione had seen her last.

And what was with the glass of water on the table?

Hermione stood up, putting the note in her pocket - possibly for safekeeping, she wasn't sure why. Had Ginny never sent or given it to Harry, or had Harry come by her apartment and left the note on the table before his self-inflicted mind-wipe? Hermione's head was spinning; she was a bright girl as she had always been, but she was no private investigator.

A new thought occurred to her; perhaps Ginny had gone to stay with someone as recently as today. The unkempt nature of the house could easily be explained by listless housekeeping in the wake of her breakup, but perhaps the news of Harry's accident (as Hermione was wistfully referring to it in her mind) had unsettled her enough to seek the comfort of friends or family.

Perhaps Ginny had even witnessed the incident. Hermione hadn't closely observed the details of the report. She realized rather suddenly that she knew hardly anything about the case.

Sighing, she turned back to the fireplace, hoping Ginny still had some Floo Powder on her mantelpiece. Hermione was going to have to do something she had been loathe to do for years, something she'd dreaded ever since she'd finished Hogwarts at age nineteen.

Well, two things she hated. The first was investigating and poking her nose into places where she didn't belong, something she'd avoided after seven years of non-stop snooping around with terrible consequences.

The second was going to visit her ex-boyfriend, the man whose life she had ruined, at least for a brief time, a man whose teen years she had stolen, in a strange way. Sighing, Hermione announced the address into the fireplace and stepped into the whirling sensation of Floo travel. When she opened her eyes, there was the unpleasantly familiar living room, slightly bemused face, and bright red hair of Ronald Weasley.

* * *

AN: Just so you all know, I will be going back to university next week, so updates may become less regular depending on my workload. However, I hope to keep working on this story, and I'm so grateful that I actually have readers! Thank you for bearing with me, all.-TheGoldenAge


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"Bloody hell, warn a man next time," Ron said, handing Hermione a cup of tea which she'd had to make herself. Ron seemed to have learnt nothing more of household skills since the last time Hermione had seen him, but he had been willing enough to do the physical pouring and extending. "I haven't seen you in ages."

"I know," Hermione said ruefully. "I hope you can understand; I've been rather busy at St. Mungo's, you know. I'm an Assistant Healer on the emer - Closed Ward." Catching herself as she spoke seemed rather hard; she wasn't willing yet to give up on her old, preferred job. "What have you been doing with yourself?"

Ron stared at her. "That's all?" he blurted finally. "After almost six years, you're just going to say you were busy and oh, how am I?"

Hermione looked down uncomfortably, cupping her mug between her hands. Her fingers burned against the ceramic surface, but she couldn't put it down. Ron's 'living room,' such as it was, was short on table space. "I'm sorry, Ron," she murmured. "I just … I remembered how you were in school, how things were after we broke up, how uncomfortable it all was … I couldn't, I didn't want to do that again. I definitely couldn't put you through that again. I'm a better person than I was then. The war made me angry, but the hospital … it made me kind."

"Well," Ron said, trying to take in her rather abstract statement with his usual good-natured attitude, "you've always been kind, Hermione. But all right. Just don't let this kind of thing happen again, all right? I mean," he added, sheepish but brave, "you rather abandoned me and Harry, and Ginny too."

"I know," Hermione said. "Actually, since you mention it, it's because of Harry and Ginny that I'm here. I was looking for your sister to drop by and she doesn't seem to be in her apartment. It was dusty and had that kind of dingy feel to it, you know? Do you know where she might be?"

Ron frowned. "I don't think she's anywhere I'd know about," he said. "I just saw her a few days ago, and she seemed a bit off, but I'm guessing it was because of the baby."

Hermione felt her jaw drop, and her tea almost went with it. After catching her mug with fumbling hands, she repeated Ron's last words in a breathless voice. "The … the baby?"

Ron nodded, a smile full of restrained pride spreading over his face. "Yeah. Said she was gonna name it Bilius if it was a boy. After me, you know."

Hermione seriously doubted that Ginny would actually name her child Bilius, but this feeling was swallowed by worry. If Ginny had been pregnant, why would she break up with Harry? Why would she leave her apartment a mess, seemingly in the midst of a normal day? Why…

Hermione's train of thought turned into a station. Perhaps she'd just moved in with Harry. True, her apartment didn't seem very empty, in the tradition of a vacant unit, but Ginny was pregnant. Could she have left the actual moving to someone more capable of lifting, and for a future date?

But that still didn't explain the glass of water and the note. True, maybe the note was old and maybe she'd left in a hurry, but it all seemed so strange. Pulling herself back to reality, she turned back to Ron and took a breath. "Wow," Hermione said. "That's nice of her. I'm sure you're very excited. Um, how far along was she exactly?"

Ron looked slightly befuddled for a moment before fully understanding the question. "Oh, right," he said. "Er, not far. She'd only told us a few weeks ago. She looked excited. Harry was thrilled, you know how he is. He was already thinking about what color hair it would have and all that. They were thinking about … you know, moving to Godric's Hollow together soon."

Hermione's heart sank into her ice cold stomach. If Ginny had left her apartment in its condition willingly, it was under extraordinary circumstances. "Do you know when they were planning to move?" she asked, forcing herself to sound natural. "I've been wanting to visit everyone from school again; I've been transferred from Emergency at work and I think my life will be a bit more settled."

"Next month, they were saying," Ron said, brow furrowing in thought. "I don't think they were in a huge hurry, but since Harry's parents' house has been fixed up a bit, they wanted to move in there. It's just the right size for a little family; I've been to see it and worked on it a bit and it looks great."

"Isn't Harry worried at all about living so close to where Bathilda used to live?" Hermione asked without thinking. It seemed that her far-off memories of school days were not as distant as she thought. "I mean, it'll be nice to live near James and Lily's home, but is it a good balance?" How could she just ask these casual questions? How could they stay sitting for another moment? Her friend, Ron's sister, was out there somewhere (or, Hermione suddenly thought chillingly, perhaps not), possibly in danger and certainly not where she was supposed to be, and her boyfriend was in a hospital room, probably facing lifelong memory challenges. And yet, sitting in this living room with Ron, despite the unsettling revelations of their conversation, was very peaceful. She didn't feel like getting up just yet. Quietly, she took a sip of her tea.

"Yeah, Harry did mention something about that," Ron said. "I've heard there was a fire at old Bathilda's house, though, so I don't think he was too worried. He and Ginny I think wanted to be able to visit the graves." Ron's voice trailed off awkwardly; he was clearly uncomfortable discussing such a personal topic with a woman who, Hermione realized abruptly and sadly, was essentially a stranger. The temperature in the living room seemed to drop a few degrees.

"Well, I'm so happy to hear that everything is working out," Hermione said, smiling quickly. "I'll have to visit them sometime this week." She wasn't sure why she was lying, or at the very least obscuring the truth, but it seemed too brazen to simply tell Ron that his sister was missing and his best friend in the hospital. Besides, a rationalizing voice whispered in the back of her head, Draco told you not to tell anyone about Harry yet. To talk about Ginny, you'd have to talk about Harry. Ron'll find out soon anyway.

True.

"So," she continued, breaking the brief quiet that had fallen, "I really do want to know what on earth you've been doing with yourself all these years. You know what I've been doing, now you've got to respond."

Ron shifted. "Er … I've bounced around a bit," he said. "But right now, I'm training to be a vet."

Hermione almost choked on her tea. "A … a vet?" she repeated. "But Ronald, you hate animals!"

A soft smile crossed Ron's face. "I've missed that a bit," he said. "You calling me Ronald like that. It used to piss me off a little, honestly, but I sort of liked it towards the end." Hermione blushed slightly, but resolved to let Ron keep doing all the talking. After a moment, he did. "Yeah, I know I did, but I've spent a lot of time around them working in George's shop, and I do like the excitement of it all. I'm hoping," he added in a low, excited voice, "that I'll get a sort of contract with the Ministry. Work out of the sort of business Care of Magical Creatures section. It'd be great."

Hermione smiled. The conversation drifted naturally, through work and hobbies and dating lives, although neither of them had much of interest to contribute to that section of the conversation. Finally, ruefully declining his invitation to get a drink, Hermione Flooed back into her own apartment. Sinking onto her couch, the smile that had flitted over her face all evening slid away to be replaced by a grimace. What ever was she going to do?


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

On Tuesday, Hermione delivered her first food tray. She hadn't disclosed her visit with Ron to Draco, although she intended to; she wasn't sure how to go about it. So, when she went to Draco's office that morning for a briefing, all they talked about was the food trays.

"You're going to have lunch with Potter today," he said curtly. Draco hadn't been assigned completely to the Closed Ward, and the Emergency and Burn wards were all clamoring for his attention. Hermione nodded, sure he knew she was competent. "When you take his food tray up, they'll send you another one. Make sure," he added, pointing his finger for emphasis, "that you don't show him any magic. Be careful carrying the tray. Don't take out your wand. Don't use any spells unless you absolutely have to. We want to introduce things a little at a time; obviously our end goal is to recover his memory, but we don't want to damage his mind."

"Right," Hermione said. "No magic. Anything else I should know?"

"Don't get sassy with me," Draco said, pulling on his lab coat. "Just … spend time with him. Don't tell him you know him yet. We're going to get into that. I'll stop by later, and they're going to run some tests on him this afternoon or evening, I don't know. We can do some debriefing and powwowing then."

"You're in a good mood," Hermione said sarcastically.

"My workload, unlike yours, hasn't been lessened until later in the day," Draco said. "Now go spend time with your friend."

"He's not my friend anymore, or yet," Hermione said sadly, but Draco wasn't one to be sympathetic. "But I'll go. Lunch will be at…?"

"Twelve thirty," Draco said, and with a briskness that wasn't uncommon, he left the office.

Hermione sighed. Why had she been moved completely to Harry's case? Of course she wanted to take care of him, but did he need a constant babysitter? And should it be her? Harry's memory was fragile and maybe barraging it with the presence of his best friend from years ago might not be the best idea.

On the other hand, she had barely been able to sleep last night. She couldn't stand thinking about Harry cooped up in his hospital bed, alone and probably wondering what the hell was going on, and why the lighting was so perfect, and why the weather outside the windows was exactly what he wanted it to be at every second of the day…

Hurrying a little more than she probably had to, Hermione made her way again to the Closed Ward. The number fifteen, shining softly in burnished gold, seemed to bear down on her. She felt a little faint for a moment, but recovered quickly, remembering her surprisingly average encounter with Harry the day before. Spending time with him, gently unlocking his mind a little at a time, might be the only solution she had to finding Ginny, which she intended to do - maybe even with Ron's help.

Not that this was the only course of action she would pursue, of course. Hermione was nothing if not a researcher. Emboldened with a plan and the knowledge that she could go home and apply her mind to another problem, Hermione knocked slightly and, without waiting, opened the door to Harry's room.

"Just a minute!" Harry was calling and, as she watched, somewhat startled, he emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his waist. When he turned to shake water out of his ear and caught sight of Hermione, Harry jumped slightly. "Blimey, you scared me," he said, voice still cheerful as he ducked quickly behind the partition. "No peeking, all right?" he added. "I'm guessing you don't have many fine, healthy young men in this building, eh? I can't blame you."

Hermione huffed. "I didn't come in on purpose," she said. "Maybe if you'd warned me first, Harry." It felt odd saying his name. It felt even odder as his next sentence floated to her from behind the partition.

"Damn, I was hoping you wouldn't remember my name," Harry said, and his voice was a little muffled at one point, as if he were pulling a sweater over his head. "I could not for the life of me think of yours when I thought about you this morning."

"You … you thought about me?" Hermione said. "And you couldn't remember my name?"

"Yeah," Harry said. He emerged from behind the partition in jeans and a t-shirt. Hermione noticed he hadn't bothered to put on shoes. "I feel rather awful about it, since I thought you were so cute and all. I was hoping you'd come back." He winked cheekily.

Hermione felt rather stunned. "I … my name is Hermione," she said, a briskness coming into her voice, "and I'm the full-time Assistant Healer on your case. Of course, Draco's in charge; I'm sure you've met him."

Harry's eyes lit up slightly. He sat down at the table in the center of the room, indicating to Hermione that she should join him. She did, rather awkwardly, and out of the corner of her eye she saw a house elf unobtrusively removing Harry's breakfast tray. The sight comforted her somehow; being with Harry, acting like Muggles together, was strange. It was like being at home with her parents, but without the familiarity of family. "I met Draco yesterday," Harry was saying as the house elf disappeared with the customary "pop." In his drive to tell his story, Harry didn't notice, or at least didn't give any indication that he noticed. "Bit of an odd name, but a really nice guy. He's one of only two blokes I've met so far; blimey, this hospital is full of women."

Blimey. Hermione couldn't remember Harry saying that before. Ron had, yes, but not Harry. "Yes, well, I suppose that's just how things are," she said blandly. "Draco will be in here quite often, I expect; in fact, he said he was going to pop in around lunch time. Until then, I suppose you'll just have to put up with me."

"Well, may as well make the best of it," Harry said, eyes twinkling humorously. Hermione could barely understand this new, flirtatious Harry. Was he like this naturally, his blank-slate mind reverting to its most fundamental inclination? "Tell me about yourself, Hermione. First off, what on earth is your last name? I can't even remember if you told me, this is atrocious. Is," he added abruptly, more seriousness and timidity coloring his voice, "is my memory going to be permanently damaged? I mean, I can't remember anything from before I woke up here, really, but am I never going to remember anything again?"

"They're going to perform some tests on you later," Hermione said quietly, and with as much reassurance as she dared to inject into her voice, "and we'll know more after that, but I wouldn't worry about it. It's perfectly natural to forget people's names. I only remember because … well, you're on the patient list, and I've got to remember all that. And it's Granger," she added, hoping he still remembered what he had asked her.

He did. "Granger," he repeated thoughtfully, "I like that. Sounds very wholesome, in a way. Like a wheat field or something. I don't know."

"My turn to ask you something," Hermione said, wondering how far she could push it before an irate Malfoy would come bursting through the door. "You said you don't remember anything before you came in here 'really.' Do you remember anything at all?"

Harry frowned, his brow crinkling in thought. "I don't know…" he said. "I'd like to be thinking about it, though. If, I mean, if you and Draco wouldn't mind, maybe I could have a pen and paper? That way I could write things down as I think of them - if I think of them," he corrected himself. "It might help."

Hermione was so tickled at hearing Harry refer to Malfoy cheerfully by his first name that she smiled and nodded without even thinking. "Of course," she said. "We'll get you whatever you need."

"Thanks," Harry said. "Now, my turn again. I'm a wizard, aren't I?"

* * *

AN: I apologize for the delay - I've been a bit under the weather, and school has started up again. We're getting well under way with the story! Everyone's starting to come together again quite nicely. I hope you're enjoying this as much as I am!-TheGoldenAge


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"He knew?"

"All right, all right, so we didn't know exactly what his memory was and we wanted to be careful," Draco responded waspishly. "Sorry for actually wanting to take care of our damn patients, Hermione, what did you want me to do?"

"Finish your stupid tests before you tell me what he does and doesn't remember before I go in there!" Hermione practically shouted. "'Hermione, talk to him,' 'Hermione, don't tell him anything,' 'Hermione, he doesn't remember anything.' Look, Malfoy, I like this even less than you do but I agree that we should both be doing our jobs!"

"I'm doing my best," Draco shouted, whirling to face Hermione. Up until then she had been following behind him as they moved through the corridors to the Closed Ward, but she halted abruptly and her nose almost bumped with her boss'. "I want Potter to get better and get out of my hospital. I want to be off the Closed Ward. I know you do too. So let's just work together and try to roll with things rather than freaking the hell out every time something doesn't go how we expect it to, all right?"

Hermione huffed, but she knew Draco was making sense. "All right," she agreed grudgingly. "So are the tests going to be done now? Can we have lunch with Harry and know there won't be any big surprises?"

"Don't be bitter," Draco said, turning neatly on one heel to continue their trip up to Harry's room. "Just forget about it. We can read over the test results together before we go in, if you like. I'll help you understand the more difficult parts."

By the time they reached room fifteen, Hermione was fuming.

An envelope hung on the door; Draco's and Hermione's names were written on it and, as they turned it over, she saw Harry's name written on the flap at the top. Hermione looked at Draco, a little afraid of what the tests had discovered, but Draco seemed fairly confident, if a little less than usual. Neither of them had ever worked with such a delicate problem as long-term brain damage. But before Hermione could get too nervous, Draco tapped the envelope with his wand and neatly slit the flap.

The test results seemed incomprehensible to Hermione, but Draco's eyes moved quickly over the page. "Well," he said finally, after what seemed like an eternity, "that was informative."

"Why don't you explain it and inform the rest of us?" Hermione asked acerbically.

Draco suppressed a grin that Hermione nevertheless saw. She couldn't help but feel that he had intended it that way. "It seems that Potter remembers magic for the same reason he remembers how to use the toilet and how to move his arms," he said. "He was born with it. That seems pretty logical," he continued, cutting off Hermione's already-formulated protest, "but imagine what the damage would have been if he hadn't known and we just assumed he did and sprung it on him. Awful."

"Right," Hermione said. "So, he remembers innate things. Does that mean he doesn't know any spells or anything? Like he knows he's a wizard, but he doesn't remember Alohamora or anything like that."

"That's what the test says," Draco says. "When we go in, we'll have lunch and then we'll do some emotional testing. The techs just asked Potter to open doors, lift objects, things like that. I want to aggravate him into an overemotional state and see whether he'll react with some magic. I'm actually rather glad this has come up, because now part of your regimen will be teaching Harry magic again."

"Do I look like a teacher?" Hermione exclaimed, but Draco was already folding the tests results into his binder and knocking on the door to room fifteen. Hermione allowed herself an instant to glower at her boss, but once Harry called them in, she rearranged her features into a more hospitable smile.

"Oh, hi, Draco. Hey, Hermione," Harry said, smiling at Draco and winking rather cheekily at Hermione. Hermione found herself smiling a little more broadly against her best instincts. Draco noticed this and looked rather severe as he sat down at the table in the center of Harry's room.

"Afternoon, Mr. Potter," he said, consummately professional. "I was wondering if we might join you for lunch. Even the doctors have to eat, and I was hoping you might want some company."

"Of course," Harry said. "I don't exactly know what we're having but I'm guessing you could just change whatever you didn't want. You know," he added when Draco looked rather confused, "with magic." He almost whispered the last word, the way kids do when they're half-reverent, half-joking. It amused Hermione and made her sad all at once.

"Do you think people can do that with magic?" Draco asked gently. "That we can just change things so they're always perfect for us."

Harry thought for a moment. "Well," he said, "I don't really think so. Hermione seems nice, and I know she's a wizard, and since I haven't got all my memory back and I'm still in this hospital room, I'm guessing she couldn't just have waved a magic wand or something and made things better."

"That's right," Hermione said. "There's limits on magic sometimes. That's why we have to go to work and buy food and things. We can't just create our money or food and we can't always fix things with spells."

"So, if I'm a wizard and I can do magic, why don't I know any spells?" Harry asked.

"It looks like that's part of your memory loss," Draco said, voice ginger.

Harry frowned. "Well," he said, and although his face cleared, his tone was dark, "they certainly did a good job on this, huh?"

Hermione and Draco shared a look, Hermione at least trying not to show how stunned she was. "What do you mean?" Hermione asked. "Who are 'they,' and what did they do?"

Harry looked a little confused. "Since I'm a wizard and you're all wizards and this is a hospital, and I haven't any memory, I'm guessing someone probably attacked me, even though I know that sounds melodramatic. Is there a spell that can make someone lose their memory?"

"There is," Draco said, neatly cutting Hermione off. Obviously he had somewhere in particular he wanted to lead this conversation. "We're not sure who exactly did this to you, but we're not ruling out the possibility that there was some sort of attack, as you put it. But we're also considering the possibility that this was a self-inflicted bit of magic."

Harry's face fell. "I didn't even think about that," he said. "But I don't think I'm the kind of person that would have done this to myself … am I?" He looked at Hermione, as if she knew anything about him … but she did, right? He had been her best friend, she'd known him forever, she knew everything about him …

"We can't be sure," she said softly. "Some things seemed to be happening in your life that could have made you want to remove your memory. Things aren't clear to anyone, Harry. But don't think that anyone would think any less of you or differently of you if this was something you had done. Even wizards make mistakes," she finished, patting Harry's hand quickly, resisting the urge to take him into her arms and tell him that at least he had one friend in the big, lonely world of the hospital.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

As their lunch progressed, Hermione began to get nervous. Draco had said he was going to test Harry in impulsive magic to see if he had maintained any memory, and she was nervous about how he was going to aggravate Harry's emotions enough to elicit a response. However, her fears were alleviated when Draco asked her to take the lunch trays out. He could have put them in the return chute, or asked her to do it, but he clearly wanted her to leave.

Maybe he thinks I have some kind of good influence, Hermione allowed herself to think as she walked through the halls toward the stairs. Honestly, no matter what the reason was, she was glad she had been allowed to leave. She much preferred talking to a cheerful Harry over a chicken salad than watching Draco manipulate him into (maybe) performing magic. She felt unusually protective over the man who had been her best friend. Although he appeared to have the same hardy personality he'd always had, he also seemed strangely vulnerable and lonely. He had seemed so happy to see her, someone he'd only met a few days before.

As she turned the corner toward the chute in the hallway, she unexpectedly met a rapidly moving obstacle and very nearly dropped the trays she was holding.

"Goodness," she exclaimed, looking up at whatever - or, as it turned out, whomever - she'd hit. "Oh, Merlin, Terry."

"You're in a hurry," Terry Boot said, grinning down at her. Terry worked in the Creature Injuries Ward of St. Mungo's and, coming in the year after Hermione, was the top of his Assistant Healing class. Hermione respected him and found it nice to have another Assistant Healer that was her age; while the Auror office had experienced an employment boom after the war, St. Mungo's hadn't. "Did you just leave Potter?"

Hermione had forgotten that Terry was going to be interacting with Harry too. "Yes," she said. "Draco is busy trying to incite him into a rage or something. He's trying to bring out accidental magic, I guess."

"You guess?" Terry asked. "Is he keeping things secret from you or something?"

"I guess I just don't like it," Hermione replied. "He's still my friend, even though he doesn't remember me anymore."

"That's tough, huh?" Terry asked sympathetically. "I lost people but at least they weren't there to remind me of it all the time."

"That's a good way of putting it," Hermione said rather sadly. "Although I'd like to think I haven't lost him yet. And hopefully you're on your way to help prevent it," she added, smiling. "I don't want to keep you."

"Please do," Terry said, although he moved around her to start walking down the Closed Ward hallway. "There's someone in Creature Injuries that's somehow escaped a Lethifold and it's getting ugly. Honestly, Potter might have a neighbor soon up here!"

When Hermione left work at the end of the day, Harry hadn't yet expressed any magical ability. Draco suspected it was somehow because he knew he was a wizard and was expecting it in some way, but Hermione privately thought Draco might not have been able to agitate him enough. The old Harry would have risen to Draco's bait in no time, but the new Harry seemed much more easy-going to Hermione.

However, right now she wasn't thinking about that. She was steeling herself to knock on Ron's door again - or, rather, for the first time. Last time she hadn't bothered with that courtesy. She wanted to find out more about Ginny; hopefully, Ron had been looking into things on his own. She was still reeling somewhat from the news that Ginny had been pregnant and potentially abducted or - Hermione's stomach clenched thinking about it - perhaps even harmed. Steeling herself at the thought that she could be helping her friend, she knocked on Ron's door.

Don't tell him anything, she thought to herself. The door opened and she plastered as real a smile as she could manage on her face. "Ron," she said, "hi."

"Blimey," Ron said, stepping back to let Hermione in, "it's nice to see you again, and not flying out of my fireplace. Didn't know you were interested in setting things back up again."

Hermione's smile became a little more genuine. "I have missed you, Ron, you know," she said. "I just didn't know how to come back. Things when we broke up were very … difficult. I felt like, for a while, at least, I'd lost not only you, but Harry and Ginny as well. That was basically all my friends from school."

"I understand," Ron replied. "Bygones are bygones and all that. So," he continued, closing and locking the door, "what can I do for you? Was the tea I had so good you couldn't resist a second visit?"

"You mean the tea I made myself?" Hermione questioned, winking. "That and I've wanted another chat about Ginny."

"Merlin, Hermione, you haven't changed a bit," Ron said. "Your persistence is still just as obnoxious as ever."

"Is it polite to say that to someone you've barely spoken to in six years?" Hermione asked, slightly hurt.

"Consider it my attempt to bring our friendship up to speed," Ron replied, half serious, half joking. "Well, all right, Hermione; you always get what you want in the end, so what is it you wanted to talk about concerning my sister?"

"Well, you said she hadn't moved in with Harry yet, but I went back to her apartment and she still wasn't there, so I went to Godric's Hollow to check there for her." This was something of a lie, as Hermione hadn't been able to visit either place, but she thought it was acceptable since she had a sinking feeling they had to move quickly if they wanted to find Ginny. It felt strange to think of her friend as someone whose face might have been on the back of her milk carton. "She wasn't there either, so I just wanted to know if maybe she was staying with your parents or any of your brothers; I didn't want to intrude on them one at a time until I found the right one, you know."

Ron's frown had been growing steadily deeper as she spoke, and now it was a concerned near-glower. "Are you trying to tell me Ginny is missing, Hermione?" he asked.

With a sigh, Hermione let all her pretense drop. She felt the aging effects of the past week hit her abruptly, an emotional and psychological ton of bricks. "Yes, Ron," she said. "I'm really, really scared for her." Briefly, she described the situation in Ginny's apartment the last time she had been in it, water and note included. There was a deadly, cold silence when she finished speaking.

"So she left in a hurry," Ron said slowly, finally. "She wouldn't just leave a glass on the table - I mean, Ginny was a right mess, but she was really concerned about the baby and all. She wanted to stay hydrated, she was taking something called 'vit-a-mins,' she's started doing all these odd exercises to stay healthy and whatnot… And that note seems a little odd to me too. I mean," Ron continued, "you know Ginny. She and Harry were like … well, I mean, even I could tell they really cared about each other. They seemed happy, you know?"

"I know," Hermione said sadly.

"So," Ron continued, looking strangely at Hermione, "why haven't you been sniffing about for Harry? I mean, do you know where he is but not my sister? He wouldn't just leave her and he wouldn't just do nothing if she were missing, right?"

Hermione hesitated. "Ron," she said slowly, "I do know where Harry is … I just … I can't exactly tell you."

It was as though she could see his neurons firing. She watched him puzzle out her abstruse statement, then saw him make the terrifying connection and watched his face blanch. "The hospital?" he asked hoarsely.

"It's not terrible," Hermione reassured him quickly. "He was found unharmed as far as anyone knows. He was sort of wandering around London; luckily someone happened upon him and recognized him and brought him to us."

"Unharmed?" Ron repeated. "Then why is he with you?"

Again Hermione paused. She wasn't sure how much more emotional turmoil Ron could take, on top of the fact that she'd probably already revealed more than Malfoy wanted her to say. But, as she thought about it, it seemed absurd to not tell Ron everything. "You mustn't tell anyone this," she said. "You can't visit yet and you'll have to arrange everything to Malfoy. He's going to be very miffed that I told you anything at all, so make your demands gently." She took a deep breath, maybe for courage, maybe just to aerate. "Harry's lost all his memory. He's in a suite on the Closed Ward and he doesn't know me. He won't know you. Quite honestly, he knows almost nothing."

Another silence.

"Bloody. Hell."

* * *

AN: My beloved readers, although I'm sure you've inferred this already, things have been INSANE here at university. I haven't been updating as frequently as I would like, and I do know that I'm putting you all through pain over this. I'm telling myself now that I need to update more often, but I'm sure you all know that's a piecrust promise. Know, however, that I have not forgotten about this story, nor do I intend to abandon it any time soon! Meanwhile, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Happy reading!-TheGoldenAge


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

"I'm sorry, Ron," Hermione said. She'd made another pot of tea and now she passed a cup to her friend. "I really would have told you but Draco had said no and I didn't want to ruffle things more than they'd already been."

"I understand," Ron said. He was, unsurprisingly, very shaken. "I guess I'm just worried about Ginny now, you know? Where did she go? Is she okay?"

"I wish I knew," Hermione said sadly. "I think that, ultimately, the best clues we have about this are locked up with Harry." She paused for a moment, trying to find the best way of putting what she knew she had to ask about. "Ron, you know I hate to ask this, but was anything … odd going on between Harry and Ginny?"

Ron frowned. "What do you mean odd?" he asked. "Like, funny business, you mean?"

"Well, sort of," Hermione said. She took a breath, giving her time to think. She didn't want to be the person who had to tell Ginny's brother and Harry's friend that their relationship may not have been the happy picture that everyone wanted it to be. "In the hospital, they said that they found Harry wandering about in London, like I said. But when our people and the Ministry investigated further, they said that what they found sort of seemed to tell them that there had been some sort of incident."

"Incident?" Ron repeated, his voice cautious.

Hermione nodded. "They said what it looked like was a kind of self-medication. His girlfriend, they think, had just left him, and he maybe tried to remove his memories of her, or maybe just took as much memory as he could. And," she added, although Ron looked more than ready to interrupt her, "when I went to Ginny's apartment the other day, I found a note that basically, to me at least, seemed to say that Ginny was leaving Harry." Hermione lowered her voice and added, "It mentioned 'my place,' which sounds like separation to me."

Ron's face held a moving mixture of sadness and anger. "What… You mean my sister was leaving Harry?" His voice was uncomprehending. "She was pregnant, they were happy, they were going to get married and move in together…" He trailed off into silence. He either couldn't or wouldn't meet Hermione's eyes; she thought it was the former. "We've got to find her, Hermione," he said. He still didn't look at her, but even if he hadn't said her name, Hermione would have known he was addressing her. "We've got to. There's a lot wrong with this situation and it can't be working out well for Ginny."

"I agree," Hermione said, rising from her seat. "I'm going to do my part with Harry, although that will be a slow process. But I'll also help you when I can. Things are always crazy at the hospital, but the one nice thing about being out of the emergency ward is that the hours are a bit more predictable. I'm all nine-to-five now." She hesitated, then reached out and patted Ron's hand gently; his eyes flew to meet hers. "We're going to do our best to find Ginny," she said. "I don't think … the worst has happened yet. Things are too undisturbed. Ginny left on her own power; magic couldn't put things right the way they are. She wouldn't have gone with someone she didn't want to without a fight. There was still a glass on the table, so she was the last one inside."

"Yeah, I guess it would be weird for someone she didn't know to just sit down and have a drink somewhere," Ron agreed. He looked thoughtful. "I doubt you would know this," he began, "but d'you think Harry might have been doing anything … odd? Like when he was trying to track down all those Death Eaters a few years back."

Hermione frowned. She had all but forgotten Harry's escapades with the Death Eaters. For a while after he entered the Auror Department, the whole Ministry had been on an excited and zealous campaign to exterminate, incarcerate, and otherwise neutralize the Death Eaters and other Voldemort sympathizers. Harry had been an enthusiastic participant and had eventually become the "face" of the effort. They'd caught several people but forced others more deeply underground and into their privacy. Honestly, Hermione hadn't been sure whether the expenditure - both of money and of lives - had been worth it. The Death Eaters they hadn't caught had become more dangerous than ever, more cunning than before, and after three years of slowly spiraling success, the effort was suspended. It was a moderate success; some children of Death Eaters, like Malfoy, had been rehabilitated and directed to a career path, while the true supporters that were ensnared were sent to Azkaban.

"What, like getting involved with all that again?" Hermione considered the possibility thoughtfully. "I think it might be more likely that one of the ones with a grudge came and attacked. Not that that's necessarily what happened," she added hastily, seeing Ron's face drain of color, "but I think that's more likely than Harry putting your pregnant sister at a direct risk like that again. The first time he took it hard enough; I do know that much."

"How long has it been since you've seen Harry and my sister?" Ron asked suddenly.

Hermione felt embarrassed, and she probably should have. "An awfully long time," she said. "About a year. Ginny and I have written a few times just to exchange news and such but I've been horribly busy and I haven't made time for the things I should have."

"Who have you seen from school?" Ron asked. Normally Hermione might have been affronted by the questions, but his tone was conversational, and she imagined he was just trying to briefly prepare himself for going more deeply into Ginny's disappearance and Harry's incident, which she could understand.

"Oh, you know," she said, her tone far too light-hearted, but Ron, in an unusually perceptive flash, seemed to understand that she was overcompensating for the seriousness of the situation and didn't comment on it, "not too many people. I see Draco Malfoy-" Ron winced "-and Terry Boot at work all the time and it's been rather nice. They're good people - now, anyway. I see Neville quite often since he works at the apothecary's in Diagon Alley and I'm always running down there for supplies for St. Mungo's since my boss doesn't like to get his shoes dusty." She avoided saying directly that Draco was her boss, although she had implied it to Ron before. Again, he didn't comment. "And, since I see Neville, I see Luna too. She's mellowed with age to a certain extent. I saw a lot of people who went on to play Quidditch come and go in the Emergency Ward, but no one I really knew well. And," she added, "what about you?"

"Harry and Ginny of course," Ron said, and he stumbled a little over his sister's name. "Neville, George, Lavender sometimes, Parvati on occasion. Oh," he added, cheering up slightly, "and Hagrid. He's one of the tutors at the training center. Working with the dangerous animals."

"Of course," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. Out of all the teachers at Hogwarts, she missed Hagrid the most. Well, Hagrid and maybe McGonagall. "How is he, anyway? Did he and Madame Maxime ever get together after the fiasco with the giants our sixth year?"

Ron's cheeriness disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. "Said Maxime passed during the war," he said. "Honestly I didn't even know France was affected but I guess it was the whole continent, not just us. Would have been nice to know we had so many allies, huh?"

"Rather," Hermione said softly. "But somehow I knew anyway, you know? It was bigger than just us, one school in Scotland. It brought us together somehow, all of us. Which," she added gently, "is just one reason why we're going to work hard to find your sister."

Ron nodded. "Where can we even start with this? I mean, I know we're both working so I'm not expecting that everything will just … stop while we look. Although that would be nice," he added. "Wish I had enough money to do that."

"You and I both," Hermione said, half sadly, half emphatically. "But I think a good place to start would be to start finding out about the Death Eaters still running about outside Azkaban. See what they've been up to and whether any of them were in the area. Meanwhile, I'll keep working with Harry and maybe pop into his apartment; don't think I've ever been there, actually."

"I can tell you where it is if you need the address," Ron offered helpfully. When Hermione politely declined, saying she could find it on her own, he continued. "Right, well, then I'll get started talking with Kingsley in the Auror Office about the Death Eaters and whatnot. Don't worry," he added preemptively, "I'll keep all the stuff about Harry and Ginny quiet unless I think we really need everyone to be involved. I want to find my sister but I don't want publicity that will make things worse."

Hermione was slightly taken aback. "You've really grown up, Ronald," she said. Ron grinned slightly, very childish and quite endearing. "I shouldn't have fallen out of touch with you all. I can't help but feel that if I'd only been more present…"

"This wouldn't have happened?" Ron interrupted. "Don't blame yourself. Me and the family were practically glued to Ginny after her announcement and we were always popping in and out, mum and dad included. Whoever did this really planned it out and knew when to come by. Ginny was grown up, much as I hate to admit it, and she could live on her own if she wanted. She could take care of herself. This wasn't something we could have stopped."

"Well," Hermione said, rising and collecting herself for Apparition, "we're going to stop it now."


End file.
